


My Intention

by Kabieee



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Time Skip, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22397095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabieee/pseuds/Kabieee
Summary: Sylvain’s chest tightened, remembering the panic and amount of sheer luck he’d hurtled into when he saw Felix from across the battlefield. He’d been cutting opponents down left and right with ease, hardly batting an eyelash as he preserved himself while managing to soldier on. But he’d stopped for that one moment, that one moment the bandit needed to close in on him with his sickle raised high. Sylvain had never urged his horse to move faster, had never thrusted his lance into an enemy harder than the one that threatened to hurt Felix. And he’d done it all, seemingly, with this tremendous pain in his body from an old wound.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 102





	My Intention

**Author's Note:**

> I, like many others, was inspired by the video of lucien and joe acting out sylvix's s-support scene. this isn't a marriage proposal fic, just a sweet one where they talk about their promise ;w; just some vent writing, i hope you enjoy!  
> thank you to my love lois for reading this for me and screaming headcanons at me <3 i love you bb!!

Felix’s ears rang amidst the volume of the battle around him. His sword slung blood through the air as he pierced and jabbed the bandits around him, expertly finding the weakest points in their armor. Their voices screamed out in agony just before they crumpled to the ground, but it all sounded as if it were miles and miles away. He was hyper focused on staying alive, no matter the amount of souls he had to take for that to happen. The sloshing, slippery mud under his feet only slowed him slightly as he trudged on through the chaos.

How long had they been fighting? It seemed like eons ago that they’d been at the academy, eating breakfast together quickly before setting out for the mission. The professor had given them their usual, chaste pep talk, urging them caution and use of their best judgment when facing the enemy. Felix had heard it all before, instead letting his mind wander to the practical training he’d be getting that day. Nothing beat getting to tear down an actual enemy instead of the training dummies back in the academy, nothing quite felt like putting a stop to harm they were doing to others.

Felix felt the ground beneath his feet rumbling, sensing a horse coming up behind him. He pulled his sword out of one of the bandit’s necks and whipped around quickly. He scowled when he saw Sylvain, fighting the notable increase in his heartrate when he saw his was uninjured, safe.

“Felix!” Sylvain pulled on the reins of his mare, bringing her to a stop just at Felix’s side.

“What are you doing, you _idiot_?” Felix yelled, clenching the hilt of his blade roughly in exasperation.

“Saving you, damn it,” Sylvain shouted back, thrusting his lance down over Felix’s shoulder. The swordsman didn’t even flinch, but went numb when he heard the breaking of bone behind him. He shot a brief attempt at an apologetic look to his best friend. His stomach dropped in his abdomen when the lancer smiled down at him understandingly before pressing on.

Felix wanted to call out, to stop his horse in his tracks and have Sylvain look at him again. But for once, maybe the first time since coming to Garreg Mach, his eyes were honed in on enemies and not Felix. He didn’t stop to ask if he was okay, hardly looked at him longer than it took to kill that bandit and retract his lance from his neck. Sylvain had indeed saved him, but then had immediately went back into the fray, just like Felix always told him to. This is what Felix always wanted.

Right?

**

Sylvain finally let himself breathe, finally allowed his limbs to unlock from the rigid, tight grip he’d kept on his horse’s back and around her reins. He slid off her down by the professor, his weapon pressed threateningly into the enemy leader’s throat. She was pretty in a feral kind of way, with blood coating her legs and arms, her garments ripped away from the battle. He supposed Byleth thought he was checking her out, but truthfully making sure the professor was safe was his sole reason for offering to hold her captive.

His mind reeled as the bandit’s leader was taken away by the church’s mercenaries, searching the crowd that had formed for Felix. The last he’d seen him was when he’d killed the bandit that almost got him, and for once he’d kept moving after despite desperately wanting to hop off his horse and bring his best friend into his arms. Fighting had made him more strung out than usual, and it had already hurt when Felix had called him an idiot, as much as he didn’t want to admit that.

He half assedly wiped off his lance with a cloth from his saddle bag, heart pounding in his ears as he came down off the adrenaline. His hearing hadn’t quite returned to normal, his ears still ringing from the onslaught of clashing metal and screaming that had plagued him all afternoon. That’s why he jumped horrifically when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Sylvain?”

The lancer whipped around and nearly yelped when he saw Felix standing before him, looking worse for wear than he had been earlier. His lance clattered to the ground as his armored hands reached out to clasp his shoulders, butterflies unfurling in hordes in his stomach.

“Fe—I was so worried—” He ignored the grunt of embarrassment that pushed out of Felix’s mouth when he hugged him, wrapping his arms around his best friend’s shoulders. The blood on his clothes didn’t even register as his face instinctively went into his neck, nor did he realize he was sighing in relief when he took in all the scents of Felix. He smelled like the battlefield, mud, sweat, and blood all mixed in, but the faint smell of his soap still hid underneath, the same smell Sylvain could pick out in the crowded dining hall or in the bath house back at the academy. It reminded him of flowers he knew Dedue grew in the greenhouse, but the only word he could attribute to it was _Felix_.

Felix sucked in some air through his teeth, betraying his hands frantically snapping around Sylvain’s waist and latching together on the small of his back. “You needn’t worry about me, Sylvain…” he grumbled. His pink cheek was pressed up against Sylvain’s armor, thankful for the cool sensation against his burning skin. He was nearly overheating in his swordsmaster’s uniform, the mud and muck of the battlefield weighing it down even more.

“Thank you, Sylvain…” he muttered quietly, hardly audible enough for the lancer to hear. “Thank you for saving me earlier.”

“Of course, Felix.”

They joined the rest of their house back at the campsite. Everyone was mentally as well as physically exhausted, weapons barely stored acceptably as they returned to their tents. Nobody could formulate more than a few words. There seemed to be a general, unspoken agreement that they’d regroup later and talk over supper. This was more than fine to Sylvain and Felix, who could both think of little to say to anyone besides each other.

Sylvain paused at the entrance to his tent, sneaking a glance at Felix as he disappeared into his own. He forced himself to breathe, shouting at himself mentally that Felix was okay. Felix was safe, didn’t have any threatening injuries, and had made it out of the battle without dying. He had little more to thank the stars for, he knew, but there was a nagging sensation in the back of his head. Sylvain wanted to follow Felix into his tent, wanted to hold him and soothe him. He tried to fool himself into believing it was utterly platonic, just one half of a lifelong friendship desperately caring for the other.

Sylvain knew he was a fool, but when it came to Felix, he was anything but uncertain about how he felt about him.

The lancer heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Felix’s tent. He froze in place, his blood running icily in his veins. It was a sound of pure agony, one he knew the other wouldn’t have let slip out if he knew Sylvain hadn’t gone in his tent. The lancer felt his hands burning against the flap before him when a pitiful, aching whimper followed the breath. He didn’t feel himself walking towards the noise, only coming back to full consciousness when he found Felix wrapped in his arms once again. The swordsman fought him for half a second before crumbling against him, breath coming out in uneven, sporadic pants. He clutched his side achingly. His fingers gripped roughly into Sylvain’s, unable to clasp his armor without slipping off of it.

“Fe, tell me where it hurts. What happened?” Sylvain tried to hold him at arm’s length so he could look, but Felix only gripped him harder and whined against his chest. “Fe—”

“J-just stand there,” Felix grunted, yanking Sylvain’s right hand in his own and pulling it down to his hip. He’d removed the top parts of his outfit, so the redhead was able to feel beneath his undershirt. He winced when he felt a deep ridge on his best friend’s side, almost feeling as if it was pulsing underneath his fingertips. “It came from a dark mage. The pain comes back from time to t-time,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

Sylvain gripped Felix tightly in an embrace, his mouth resting down in his hair. “Can I try something?”

Felix shot a pained look up at him, yet was already going soft and pliant in Sylvain’s arms. He allowed the older man to sit him down on his bedroll, too exhausted to put up a fight as he lifted his shirt. Felix’s face flushed in anxiety and his eyes darted away from his best friend when he looked at the scar. He himself was still unaccustomed to looking at it for too long, avoiding mirrors and looking at his body when he bathed like the plague. It was the deepest scar on him, a frightening imperfection that constantly looked like a fresh bruise.

“Hold still, Fe,” Sylvain said softly, lightly touching his fingertips to Felix’s skin. He was surprised when the other didn’t wince or hiss. His heart nearly swelled to bursting when Felix’s hand went up into his hair, gripping gently.

Sylvain concentrated and poured his heart into the quiet incantation he muttered, settling his palm down on the scar. Mercedes had taught him the remedy to aide in the pains that came from his leg, which had suffered a traumatic injury moons before. He didn’t even know if it’d _work_ or help, but he was willing to do just about anything to ensure Felix didn’t make those sounds again.

“Ahhn… Sylvain—” Felix nearly collapsed onto his chest, his eyes drooping closed in relief as the magic seeped into his body. He blinked them open to look at his best friend in quiet awe. He knew he’d been studying reason with Mercedes and Annette, but had no idea he’d progressed to this level of healing magic. “That feels… so much better.”

Sylvain peered into Felix’s copper eyes and smiled, that damn smile that made Felix’s knees and hands shake. “I’m glad I could help, Fe.”

They stayed that way for a little while. Sylvain’s hand never left Felix’s side; Felix’s fingers never once moved out of Sylvain’s hair. The redhead had a million questions he wanted to ask the other, like how long he’d been suffering quietly with this scar, why he hadn’t asked anyone for help before, and, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, if it’d possibly be okay for Sylvain to kiss him.

But instead a silence formed, although not uncomfortable by any means. Sylvain shifted to sit beside Felix on his bedroll, his heart pounding anxiously against his chest when the swordsman awkwardly put his head on his shoulder. Their hands met over Sylvain’s thigh, warm and inviting in each other’s palms.

“Kinda hurt when you called me an idiot earlier,” Sylvain laughed hollowly, sheepishly resting his head against Felix’s.

“Well… you _are_ an idiot,” Felix replied, his hand squeezing Sylvain’s tighter. “But you’re an idiot who saved my life… and helped me ease this damn pain.”

Sylvain’s chest tightened, remembering the panic and amount of sheer luck he’d hurtled into when he saw Felix from across the battlefield. He’d been cutting opponents down left and right with ease, hardly batting an eyelash as he preserved himself while managing to soldier on. But he’d stopped for that one moment, that one moment the bandit needed to close in on him with his sickle raised high. Sylvain had never urged his horse to move faster, had never thrusted his lance into an enemy harder than the one that threatened to hurt Felix. And he’d done it all, seemingly, with this tremendous pain in his body from an old wound.

“I’m. Sorry for calling you an idiot, Sylvain.” Felix’s voice was weak, his head pressed against his best friend’s shoulder more meaningfully. “I can’t help but think of you whenever we have to go to battle. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you were to die—protecting _me_ , no less.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Fe.” Sylvain nervously moved his hand out from under Felix’s, slowly slipping it down around his waist. Felix blushed, not from the placement of his arm, but the audacity of his best friend’s words.

“You don’t _know_ that, Sylvain—” his voice cracked, eyes going blurry as tears began to form. He realized he’d grabbed on to the front of the lancer’s shirt, gripping it desperately as he looked anywhere but up into the other’s honey colored eyes.

“We made a promise, Felix.” Sylvain gently grabbed his chin and made him look at him, his eyebrows furrowed. Those eyes of his were glassy, but Sylvain had always been much better at not falling to pieces when his emotions got the better of him than Felix was. “I promised you all those years ago that I’d never leave your side. Do you remember what you promised me?”

Felix took a shaky breath and nodded, closing his eyes gently. He fell forward onto Sylvain’s chest and hugged him anxiously, his body feeling as though he could never grip him tightly enough to convey how much he cared for him. The tears lost the battle soon after, shooting down his cheeks and rattling the breath inside his lungs. Sylvain just held him, both arms wrapping around his back.

“What did you promise me, Fe?” Sylvain repeated gently, voice laced with adoration and love for his best friend. Felix could almost smell the sweetness of his voice, it entering his bloodstream like a sedative. As he gripped his shirt and dug slightly into his skin with his nails, he forced himself to look up at the redhead.

“I promised that we would stay together. Until we die together.”

Sylvain’s hands traveled up his shoulders to his cheeks, holding them gently. He couldn’t breathe, could hardly think. All he knew in that moment was Felix, all he could sense was his damp face in his hands and his scarred, tough body now soft against his own.

“I break a lot of promises, Fe. I do a lot of stupid, _stupid_ things. But I would _never_ go back on my promise to you.”

Felix sniffed, becoming more embarrassed by the moment that he’d let himself cry. He figured he’d make a fool of himself one more while he was ahead, though. His teeth bit down into his bottom lip as he looked up at his best friend, his eyes darting away as he sucked up the courage to do what his heart was screaming at him to carry out. But before that time came, Sylvain’s lips had gently landed on his own, his thumbs slowly wiping the tears out of Felix’s eyes.

Sylvain tilted his head into the kiss, reaching down under Felix’s rear and heaving him up onto his lap. At first the swordsman was stiff, arms awkwardly gripping the back of Sylvain’s shirt and teeth clashing against his in his own.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked concernedly, pulling away. Felix’s eyes shot open widely and he shook his head. His hands gripped him more tightly and his mouth kept opening and closing as he struggled with what he wanted to say.

“N-no—I—” Felix desperately looked into Sylvain’s gaze, only gripping him tighter as the seconds flew by. “I didn’t know you… _felt this way._ ”

“That’s because I’m an idiot, Felix,” Sylvain said quietly, pressing his forehead to his best friend’s. He continued to wipe his cheeks as he breathed out raggedly. “I act like this… _knowing_ I made that promise to you—knowing how I’ve _felt_ about you for so long—you don’t… deserve someone like me saying they love you—”

Felix tensed up in worry, his head shaking slowly as he stared at Sylvain. “Who are you here with, Syl?” He buried his face into the redhead’s chest, hands beginning to hurt from how tightly he gripped his clothes. “Who’s the one who a-always-- always _f-fucking_ saves me when I’m mere seconds from death?”

They held each other in the quiet of the tent, all outside noise completely blocked out. Felix cried softy against his best friend, the man he loved, never wishing harder than he was right then that he was better with words.

“Don’t… say that I don’t deserve you.” He frowned at the lancer and jerked his hand under his chin, holding it up as he gazed intently into his eyes. “Just stay by my side.”

“Oh, Felix…” Sylvain sighed shakily against the swordsman, an uncontrollable smile breaking his lips. “That’s all I intend to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter is @setethstiddies! (nsfw!) <3


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